


Man in the Moon

by BiJane



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sarah Jane Adventures, Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s08e07 Kill The Moon, Missing Scene, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We saw what was happening on the Moon. What about back on Earth?<br/>The votes placed and the decisions made, by the people who still made their homes below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man in the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick piece on three separate companions, all of which would (to my knowledge) still be hanging around this Earth come 2049.  
> They make the decisions which I think best suit their character, at least to my interpretation of them. Both sides certainly have merit in the episode, especially as far as their knowledge goes, so all are justified.  
> I really wish we'd seen more of the state of things on Earth, in the episode. It was pretty much impossible given how much was going on, but hey, that's what fanfic's for.

Martha Jones had her lights on, and refused to turn them off. It had been years since she’d seen him, years since she’d walked out, but some lessons stayed learnt.

Life was precious: especially the last life of its kind. Genocide was no worthy goal, when there was no certain threat. There was only hearsay, and speculation: and she knew too well how easily people hated.

Her doorbell rang. Wearily, Martha got to her feet: it didn’t matter how advanced technology had become, she was still getting on in years. She crossed the small distance to the railing on the wall, and used it to pull herself to the front door.

No matter what anyone said, constant life-or-death situations weren’t good for your health. Not that she’d trade any of it.

Martha opened the door, to see a rather young boy standing there. Well, he was young by her reckoning.

“Excuse me, Miss?” he said, “Have you seen the news?”

“The broadcast?” Martha said. She nodded.

“It’s just, your lights are on,” he said.

She nodded again.

Martha found herself rather disappointed as she looked down the street. It seemed hers was the only illuminated house.

One house in a sea of darkness probably didn’t mean much. It wouldn’t be visible from space, that she knew for certain: she also knew not to back down.

“Do you need help?” the boy said.

He seemed honestly baffled, rather than angry. Martha supposed that was a good thing. The innocent, swept along on the waves opinion, were always easier to deal with than those raving and ranting.

“My lights are fine as they are,” Martha said. “I take it yours are off?”

The boy nodded.

“Do you need help switching them on?”

He shook his head. After a moment: “But… why?”

“I’m an optimist,” Martha said. “I don’t think there’s any life out there whose first living act will be devastation.”

“You heard what she said though,” the boy said.

“She said she didn’t know,” Martha said. “It could, or it could not.”

“I don’t want to risk it.”

“No one wants to risk,” Martha said. “Sometimes you have to.”

Unsteadily, Martha took a step back, supporting herself against the wall. The boy still looked at her, bafflement clear, turning to resentment as he saw the light shining unashamedly above his head.

“What if it were a human life?” Martha said, “A human child.”

“One life against billions?” the boy said.

“Now imagine you had to do it,” Martha said. “You were told to look a child in the eyes, and end its life, all for something that _might_ happen.”

The boy paused. Martha’s eyes lost focus, drifting past him: the moon white, ominous in the distant sky.

“I don’t condone genocide,” Martha said. “The last of their kind, they’re the most important.”

“Thank you,” the boy said. A slow nod, before he turned. He was almost out of her garden before he said a goodbye.

Wandering back to her chair, Martha was gratified to see lights flicker on around another house, down the street.

* * *

Rani Chandra was amazed she’d inherited this house. Well, she and Luke, but he’d given it to her completely. He travelled a lot, now.

When Mr Smith (She’d kept the name, in memory) had played her the broadcast, she’d recognized the woman talking. Not who she was, but the kind of person she was: slightly idealistic, less attached to this era, very much not supposed to be where she was.

A quick scan of public record had confirmed it. Clara Oswald, schoolteacher almost forty years ago, suspected companion. Mr Smith did have his uses.

Which meant the Doctor was probably up there. Rani had only met him a couple of times, but she remembered that she’d liked him.

“Mr Smith,” she said, “Are all the house lights on?”

“Affirmative, Mistress Rani,” said a voice that definitely didn’t belong to the computer in the wall.

“Confirmed,” Mr Smith said, his simulated voice still managing to hint at a little irritation.

Rani chuckled, kneeling to pet a metal dog’s head.

She made her decision almost before the question was asked. Part of her hoped she was a minority, that the moon would be killed: she just didn’t want to vote for that.

It felt too much like having blood on her hands. That feeling she couldn’t stand.

There was the sound of smashing glass. Immediately, Rani ran over to the wall, peering out, to see a few vandals hidden by shadow. She should have expected that. Not everyone would be happy with her decision. 

“K9?” Rani said.

She didn’t need to say anything else. The robot dog had become rather good at predicting what she wanted; it trundled out the attic and, soon, poked its head out the front door.

Two brief flashes of red later, and the vandals hurried off. While those shots were little more than light, at the setting they were on, it always proved effective at keeping unwanted people away from the house.

Still, Rani didn’t look out the window when she sat down. She didn’t want to know how things looked; didn’t want to know what was to happen. Neither alternative seemed desirable.

“This is the best choice, right?” she said. She spoke, not to either machine, but to a small photo hanging on the wall. “Tell me it’s that, Sarah-Jane.”

* * *

Captain Jack Harkness sat in darkness.

The Earth was his home, and even this century had become the same for him. He’d lived, and loved, and celebrated with so many here. He wouldn’t risk that, for anything.

He didn’t like death, despite the amount of experience he’d had with it. That didn’t mean he’d shy away from it, if it was necessary. Innocents died. Centuries of life had told him that.

He picked up a chair, unlocked a door, and sat outside. Captain Jack Harkness looked up at the moon: if he was going to vote for this, he refused to make it easy for himself. Though he was willing to make the hard decisions, he refused to treat them as anything other than what they were.

The ringing of a phone. It took Jack a moment to place it: he’d almost forgotten he had one. He hadn’t planned to stay around on Earth quite this long, after everything, it had just… happened.

“Hi. Jack?” a familiar, Welsh accent came through.

“Well hello Gwen,” Jack said.

“You sound as young as ever,” Gwen said, giving a possibly-frustrated laugh. Then a pause, and levity faded: “You saw it?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, shortly.

“She’s one of them, right? The Doctor’s?”

“Human up on the moon, with no government having the slightest clue how she got there?” Jack said, “I’d say it’s a fair bet.”

“So he’s up there,” Gwen said.

“Probably,” Jack said.

A moment of silence.

“Your lights off?” Gwen said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Yours too?”

“Yeah,” a pause, “God, I hate this.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. Another pause: “He’ll make sure no one dies though. No one who doesn’t have to.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know,” Jack said. “There’s a moon when I come from, though. Way in the future. If it’s there then, it probably survives now,” he shrugged, “History’s full of hard choices.”

“I know,” Gwen said. “I’ve made a few, remember?”

“I remember,” Jack said. “Sorry.”

“Bit late now, isn’t it?” familiar laughter.

Silence: and both looked up at the sky. Jack fully expected to see awfulness; to see genocide. He knew humanity, for better or for worse:  he knew they weren’t adverse to great cost.

Neither was he. Every day, he remembered the deaths he’d caused, strangers, friends and family alike. It never was easy, and he’d never let it become so.

Captain Jack Harkness looked up at the night sky, waiting for an atrocity: and, instead, he beheld wonder.


End file.
